


In Tongues

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [131]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Begging, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Canon Era, Dom/sub Play, Dragonlord Merlin, Dragonlord Voice Kink, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Kink Exploration, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 19:32:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15031691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: They discover it by accident when, the next time Merlin calls for Kilgharrah, it is Arthur who walks into the clearing first.Or: Due to his Pendragon blood, Arthur is compelled to obey Dragontongue. He and Merlin have some fun with this fact.





	In Tongues

 

They discover it by accident when, the next time Merlin calls for Kilgharrah, it is Arthur who walks into the clearing first. The prince is half asleep, dressed in his night shift with his hair rumpled and soft around his face, and he and Merlin stare at one another for a long moment before Arthur takes a step forward, pointing a finger at Merlin in warning.  
  
“Not a word,” he says, eyes narrowing. “To _anyone_.”  
  
“No, sire,” Merlin agrees, although he’s having trouble holding back a smile. Arthur notices—of course he does—and scowls like he knows what’s going through Merlin’s mind.  
  
“I mean it, Merlin.”  
  
“Who would I tell?” Merlin asks pragmatically. “No one but Gaius knows that I’m a Dragonlord. And I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.”  
  
When the prince turns back towards the castle, however, padding bare-footed and careful over the uneven ground, Merlin can’t resist hissing after him, “ _ **Stumble**_.”  
  
Arthur’s footsteps falter for a moment before picking up again.  
  
“Nice try, Merlin,” he calls over his shoulder. “But I’m not actually a dragon.”

 

◈◈◈

 

Whatever it was that had summoned Arthur to him, it wasn’t the same as a true compulsion; perhaps because Arthur is human and not dragon-kin, Merlin’s magic works on him in the manner of a strong suggestion, which the prince can usually shake off so long as he’s paying attention. Arthur describes it as being a kind of friendly nudge, as though Merlin had slipped his arms around his waist and whispered something filthy in his ear—not his _exact_ words, maybe, but what Merlin deduces from the way Arthur’s cheeks go pink when he talks about it, the pupils of his eyes dilating an almost imperceptible degree.  
  
“I wonder if your family has dragon blood,” Merlin muses, thumbing through one of Geoffrey’s texts on the royal family tree. As dry and dusty as it is, Merlin doesn’t expect such a secret to be hidden within its pages, but there are tantalising hints of an answer here and there, not the least of which lies in the name. “That might explain it.”  
  
“It might, if humans ever mated with dragons,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes. “But I think anyone who tried it would be burned to a crisp. Not to mention the fact that they’re a _different species_.”  
  
Merlin lets the matter slide after that, but it’s a legitimate question. It’s not as if there aren’t spells for shapeshifting, after all, and with the proper motivation, a sufficiently gifted sorcerer could do just about anything.  
  
He wonders if that’s where Dragonlords came from. 

 

◈◈◈

 

The subject which _truly_ exercises his imagination does not arise for several days, although Merlin realises later that Arthur must have been thinking about it for some time before he brought it up. Arthur has a series of complicated rules when it comes to sex, the ins and outs of which Merlin is still trying to understand, but the most important one seems to be that if he doesn’t acknowledge it—if they just don’t _talk_ to one another about it—then outside of the moments they spend tangled up with each other’s arms, cocks, fingers and mouths, he gets to pretend that nothing is different. In the morning, when Merlin slips from the prince’s bed to dress and stoke up the fire, Arthur remains determinedly insensate, refusing to wake up or even stir until Merlin returns with his breakfast and begins the morning chores, neatly installed in his role as manservant once again.

In all of Merlin’s speculations, therefore, he has always assumed that he would have to be the one to bring up the incident in the forest, always supposing Arthur will agree to talk about it at all; which is why it comes as such a shock when, as Merlin is sliding into bed beside him one evening, Arthur puts down the book he has been reading and turns to face him.  
  
“About the other night,” he says.  
  
“I didn’t mean to,” Merlin says at once. After so many years as Arthur’s manservant, the response is almost a reflex, and he knows without having to look that Arthur is grinning. “Shut up. You know I’m not going to use it.”  
  
“I know.” Arthur is silent for a long moment, so long that Merlin thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep. Then he says quietly, “But…what if you did?”  
  
Merlin’s head snaps up. What he can see of Arthur’s expression appears faintly embarrassed, but he meets Merlin’s gaze with determination, a familiar stubborn set to his jaw.  
  
“You… _want_ me to—what, to order—?”  
  
“It’s just an idea,” Arthur says hastily. “You don’t have to. I just thought you might…want to.”  
  
“I’m not sure I know how,” Merlin confesses, although he has to admit that he’s been thinking about it. Rather a lot, as it happens. Besides, anything that makes Arthur curious enough to make the first move must be worth investigating; never mind that it’s hardly an imposition and Merlin has _said as much on multiple occasions_ , it’s still a rule that Arthur hardly ever breaks. Until now. “But I can give it a try, if you like.”  
  
From Arthur’s sideways glance, he’s not altogether keen on being an experiment, but he settles against the pillows without a word, so Merlin figures he might as well give it a try.  
  
“ ** _Kiss me_** ,” he says bluntly, deciding to start with something simple and to the point. It’s strange, using Dragontongue without a dragon present—without even the intention of summoning a dragon—and although he waits for a moment to give the command time to take effect, nothing happens. Arthur remains firmly ensconced on his own side of the bed.  
  
“ _ **Kiss me**_ ,” Merlin insists, more firmly this time. “ _ **Arthur, come here and kiss me.**_ ”  
  
No response. Smirking at him blithely from across the pillows, Arthur says, “You know, Merlin, if it’s too much _trouble_ —”  
  
“ _ **Shut up**_ ,” Merlin growls, unthinking, and it’s only when Arthur opens his mouth to speak—then snaps it shut again, looking surprised—that he realises what he’s done. “Oh, god,” he says, scrambling to sit up straight. “I’m sorry—I didn’t actually mean—”  
  
Arthur cuts him off, however, by the simple expedient of kissing him on the mouth, and Merlin lets out a soft ‘oh’ as Arthur pulls him into his lap and slides a hand up his shirt, demonstrably _not_ displeased by this turn of events.  
  
“So that’s how it is, is it?” Merlin murmurs, straddling Arthur’s hips. He can feel Arthur’s cock beneath the blankets and rocks against him, biting down on Arthur’s lower lip as the prince opens his mouth in a gasp. “You’re going to make this _difficult_.”

Arthur just smiles guilelessly, which Merlin takes as an affirmative, and also as permission to turn the kiss filthy, licking his way into Arthur’s mouth and grinding down with his hips in a way that makes Arthur let out a soundless moan. The prince rises to meet him, hands roaming over the flat planes of Merlin’s chest, his head tipped back and his eyes slitted, cat-like with pleasure. “God, _Arthur_ ,” Merlin groans, lips sliding from Arthur’s mouth to his jaw; his neck. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.” 

Arthur lets out a huff of what might be laughter, fingers tugging at the hem of Merlin’s tunic before dipping below his belt. “Yes, I know,” Merlin says, in response to the unspoken teasing. “I have too many clothes on for that.” He pulls off the shirt first, nearly braining Arthur with an elbow as he does it, and is unceremoniously shoved off the bed. “Ouch! Fine, hang on—”

The breeches follow, then his smalls, and then he’s naked and scrambling for the vial of oil Arthur keeps in his bedside drawer, nearly knocking over some of the other bottles in his haste. Arthur waits almost patiently, his hands fisted in the material of his coverlet the only sign of his growing agitation—at least, until you look into his eyes.

“You can—you know. Get started,” Merlin says awkwardly, still fumbling around checking the labels. “I’ll only be a second…”

But the prince just looks at him, making no move to hurry things along, and Merlin trails off, studying Arthur’s face. He looks torn between arousal and humiliation, his gaze sliding away from Merlin’s eyes where they try to meet his. “Unless…You want me to _order_ you to do it?”

An almost indiscernible nod. Arthur’s cheeks are flushed red, and Merlin’s pretty sure his are, too, but his cock is already hard and aching and it’s not as if he’s going to turn _down_ a chance to boss Arthur around. Cautiously, his eyes on the prince in case he changes his mind, Merlin reaches again for the voice he usually uses on Kilgharrah and says simply, “ _ **Touch yourself**_.”

Nothing happens. Arthur is still watching him, one eyebrow raised and a hint of defiance in his eyes, and all right, if that’s the way he wants to play it—

“ _ **Touch yourself, Arthur,**_ ” Merlin repeats, more forcefully now, sheathing the words in power as though coating a bitter pill in honey, and he catches the flare of gold in Arthur’s eyes before his head falls back, his breath escaping in a surprised rush as he reaches down—and does it.

He’s hard beneath his shift, that much is obvious. Merlin can just see the flushed head of his cock as he works it under the covers, his thumb sliding over the slit in a way that makes Merlin bite his lip to contain his moan. Arthur’s chest is heaving, his eyes screwed shut like it’s a struggle to keep himself silent, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin whispers. Arthur’s breath hitches, hips stuttering upwards, and Merlin lets out the sound for him, a strangled, half-swallowed groan. Grabbing a vial at random, he crawls up the bed towards the prince, his prick heavy and straining between his thighs, and pulls the covers back to expose Arthur’s frantically moving fist, the soft weight of his balls drawn up like he’s already on the edge. Arthur whimpers a little, tendons in his neck straining, and somehow Merlin knows that he’s holding off, unable to come without instruction.

The thought makes him dizzy. “God, you’re so,” he breathes, not really knowing what he’s intending to say. “You’re so—Fuck, Arthur, can you turn over for me?”

Arthur just blinks at him, dazed, and Merlin repeats it in Dragontongue, swallowing hard when Arthur complies without hesitation. He lies on his belly with his legs spread, the back of his shift rucked up to reveal the naked curve of his arse in the candlelight. He’s still stroking his cock in short, awkward jerks against the mattress, until Merlin takes his wrist and orders him softly to stop, tugging both of Arthur’s hands behind his back and pinning them just above his buttocks. Arthur’s harsh breathing is audible now; they’ve done this enough times that he must be well aware of what’s coming next, but thanks to a few judicious commands all he can do is lie still and wait for it, and Merlin can see his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself in place as he applies a generous amount of oil to Arthur's arse. When he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the dimple at the base of Arthur’s spine, the prince jerks a little, letting out a sound that is close to a sob.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, pausing. “Do you—I mean, is it okay if I—?”

“ _Yes_.” The word sounds like it's been torn from his throat. “For God’s sake, Merlin, if you stop, so help me—”

Grinning, Merlin continues his ministrations, laving his tongue along the seam between Arthur’s thighs. Arthur moans and writhes, having apparently given up on silence for now—or perhaps, having broken that enchantment, he’s simply unable to stay quiet any longer. Merlin mouths at his balls, nudging his nose into Arthur’s crack, then licks a slow stripe up the centre until he finds the indent of Arthur’s hole. Arthur rocks against him immediately, a small sound escaping his lips, but Merlin holds him down, leaning some of his weight onto Arthur’s thighs to show that he means business. He flicks the tip of his tongue along Arthur’s rim, tasting him, then begins to systematically work his way inside, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he presses past the first layer of resistance.

“More, Merlin, please,” Arthur babbles, making tiny little thrusts with his hips as he fucks back against Merlin’s mouth. “Need you—need you to— _fuck, yes, please_ —”

“Never thought—I’d hear you beg,” Merlin comments, breathless, reaching down to pump himself desperately with one slippery fist. It’s a testament to just how far gone Arthur is that he doesn’t even try to pretend that wasn’t what he’d been doing. “Come on, Arthur. _**Let me hear you.**_ ”

Arthur moans on cue when Merlin delves into him again, letting loose a string of expletives as Merlin supplements his tongue with one of his fingers and pushes in deep. He is usually so much quieter in bed, especially when he’s the one on the receiving end, and Merlin listens to his unrestrained pleasure with a sense of wonder verging on disbelief; he had never thought Arthur capable of unravelling quite like this, not given the way he’s always so careful to keep himself contained. He adds a second finger, then a third, until the prince lets out a wrenching groan and pulls away from him, face flushed, his blue eyes wild with panic.

“Someone could hear,” he gasps, voice raw and shattered. “It’s not safe. Merlin, I can’t—”

“ _ **Be still,**_ ” Merlin growls, and at once, some of the tension drains out of Arthur’s shoulders. He sags onto his elbows, panting, and Merlin kisses his shoulder-blades, the arc of his neck where it bends towards the pillow. They remain poised there for a long moment, Merlin’s mouth hot against Arthur’s damp skin, the shock of the sudden stillness making their breath sound loud in the cool night air. No one has heard them; the courtyard outside is silent, no doubt deserted at this hour of the night, and gradually Merlin unfreezes, relaxing against Arthur’s shaking body. His cock slides home inside the slick groove of Arthur’s arse, his chest pressed up against the prince’s back as he grabs a fistful of Arthur’s hair and pulls his head up, whispering into his ear, “ _ **Come for me, Arthur. Come for me.**_ ”

Merlin manages one thrust; two. Arthur shudders all over and then stills, spurting onto the mattress, and though he doesn’t make a sound, the hitching of his breath and the way he clenches around Merlin’s cock is enough to make Merlin come too.

  

◈◈◈

  

Later, after Merlin has cleaned them both up with a wave of his hand and settled back into Arthur’s embrace, the prince says, almost diffidently, “Was that—okay?”

“Did I enjoy it, do you mean?” Merlin asks, nuzzling at his throat. “Having you at my mercy?”

Arthur laughs a little, but he’s still tense, and Merlin leans up to kiss him, tonguing the lower lip still swollen from where Arthur had bitten into it to muffle his cries.

“Idiot,” he says softly. “Did you think I would see you differently?”

“Don’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” Merlin slings a leg over Arthur’s thighs, drawing him close until the two of them are lying flush together. “Maybe not in a bad way, though.”

Arthur’s spent cock is resting against his hip, and Merlin rubs up against it, laughing when Arthur grunts and pinches his ribs in retaliation.

“It’s all right to want things, Arthur,” he says, as the prince’s fingers soothe the small hurt, sliding along his stomach and down. He tangles their hands together, and is relieved when Arthur doesn’t pull away. “But, if it helps…it’s all right if you want me to take the blame for it, too, even though we both know you could break the spell in a heartbeat. You can break it, right?” he asks, suddenly anxious. The last thing he wants is to find out Arthur had been somehow forced into this, despite all appearances to the contrary. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, _Mer_ lin.” Now it is Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes, his stiffness relaxing into an indulgent smile. “I could have broken it at any time, honestly, you’re not _that_ powerful.”

Merlin looks at him sideways, letting out a throaty, “ ** _Bite me,_** ” which only makes Arthur snort and pin him to the bed, ignoring the command to run his nose along the stubble of Merlin’s cheeks and brush a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Still not a dragon,” he murmurs, smirking, and Merlin laughs.


End file.
